


worked up

by PaintedVanilla



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: 1992 Movie Crowley DO NOT INTERACT, Comfort, Established Relationship, M/M, Nightmares, Sleepy Cuddles, South Downs Cottage (Good Omens)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-14
Updated: 2020-01-14
Packaged: 2021-02-27 05:54:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,173
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22252180
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PaintedVanilla/pseuds/PaintedVanilla
Summary: ”You’re working yourself up,” Aziraphale says gently.”I had a dream where I was straight and told you to die!” Crowley exclaims. “That’s a very good reason to be getting worked up!”
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 73
Kudos: 491





	worked up

**Author's Note:**

> I needed to get the taste of the movie script out of my mouth

Aziraphale is very unused to waking up in bed alone. He only ever sleeps when Crowley is sleeping, and even then never as much. He’s always out of bed before the demon in the morning, as he likes to sleep in, so he’s never in bed alone unless Crowley manages to drag himself to the kitchen to make coffee as a sweet surprise. 

But it’s not the right time for coffee right now. The sun isn’t even up. According to the clock on the bedside table, it’s 2:33 A.M. and for some reason, Crowley isn’t in bed.

The bathroom light is on, peaking through the crevice around the rim of the shut door. Aziraphale slides out of bed and toes his slippers on, padding across the room.

”Crowley?” he asks quietly; he knocks gently on the door, only to discover it’s not properly shut. It creeks open slightly, so the angel takes initiative and pushes it back until he catches sight of his husband.

Crowley is clad in his robe, his face wet, evidently because he’s been splashing it with water. He catches sight of Aziraphale in the mirror and turns around to look at him.

”Oh,” he says, wiping his face. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you.”

”Is everything alright?” Aziraphale asks.

Crowley nods. “I’m fine, now. Sorry.”

”No need to apologize. What happened?”

”Bad dream.”

”Ah.”

Aziraphale was familiar with this. Crowley was prone to waking in the middle of the night screaming, or crying, or unable to breathe. He could never quite articulate the content of the nightmares, but they were enough to leave him shaking and paranoid. It was always hard for him to fall asleep afterwards; every little noise was an amplified threat. He usually had to stay curled up in Aziraphale’s arms until he was exhausted enough from being scared to fall back asleep with his eyes open.

”Not—” Crowley says suddenly, startling Aziraphale out of his thought process. “Not like the regular kind.”

”Oh?” Aziraphale asks, admittedly intrigued. “What was it about?”

”It...” Crowley says slowly, looking sick now. “It was weird. And bad. I was there. And you were there, too. And... Madame Tracy was also there?”

”That does sound strange,” Aziraphale agrees. 

”It was so...” Crowley trails off, thinking. “It was like— you and I were in your office? And there was this girl there, and I was _flirting_ with her—”

Aziraphale snorts. Crowley gives him a look. “It’s not funny! It happened!”

”Well, I, too, would admittedly be very distressed if I had a dream where I wasn’t gay,” Aziraphale says.

”It was weird!” Crowley insists. “And I was walking around and talking about how horrible the Earth was! For some reason! And then I left and I went to this— this _nightclub_ —”

”Oh, like those little establishments in Soho you used to like going to in the 1970’s?” Aziraphale asks. “The gay ones?”

”No!” Crowley exclaims. “That was the worst thing! I actually liked going to places like that! This place was weird and upscale and there were all these young human women who were dressed all skimpy—”

”That’s two manifestations of heterosexual content from your subconscious brain. I think that’s a new record.”

”It’s not funny!” Crowley says, clearly distressed. “I was enjoying myself! I was being weird and gross and so fucking mean, and then— we were at the park and I tried to tell you we weren’t friends! And it’s like Armageddon was happening again but I didn’t want to tell you about it! And I was treating you like shit and then I was back at the nightclub and Madame Tracy was there and I almost got into a fight and then Satan called me up and I went to see him, but it wasn’t actually him! He looked like that— that horrible actor, what’s his name, I can never remember— the one people say looks like an alien—”

”Crowley—”

”And I told him if he wanted to assign me off-Earth I wouldn’t be opposed!” Crowley continues. “And then he was like, here’s a baby, it’s my son, don’t lose it or I’ll torture you forever! And then I proceeded to lose it immediately!”

”Crowley, dear—”

”And then I went back to that stupid nightclub again! And I was drinking and then you were there and I was being so horrible to you like you’re not the love of my life, and then it’s all sort of just? Fuzzy? And there was this weird little seaside town and Madame Tracy was there and Adam was there, too... and then I went to see Satan again and then I saw you again and I said—”

Crowley is beginning to look like he might actually be sick. “I said you were stupid and that you didn’t deserve to live.”

Aziraphale softens. “Crowley— that wasn’t real.”

”And yet I said it!” Crowley insists. “It just came right out of my mouth! I didn’t even think about it! And it didn’t even sound wrong in the moment! I don’t even think we were married in the dream because then we were in the little town and we had to stay somewhere and I kept trying to insist we slept in different rooms and—”

”You’re working yourself up,” Aziraphale says gently.

”I had a dream where I was straight and told you to die!” Crowley exclaims. “That’s a very good reason to be getting worked up!”

”Crowley, please come lay back down,” Aziraphale says, reaching out to take his arm. “I can assure you with complete certainty it was just a bad dream. You’re not straight and you have never told me to die.”

”I said it in my brain, though...”

”Not on purpose,” Aziraphale assures him. He pulls him back into their bedroom and turns the bathroom light off.

”I’m sorry, anyways,” Crowley says in the darkness.

”Don’t be, darling, you haven’t done anything,” Aziraphale says, leading him back to bed.

”My subconscious did, though,” Crowley says worriedly. He divests his robe and drapes it on the end of the bed. “I literally— I _literally_ can’t even fathom not being madly in love with you.”

Aziraphale smiles, sliding back under the covers. “Come here, you old serpent.”

Crowley eagerly crawls under the covers next to him, clinging to his side. “I’m still sorry,” he says quietly. “I’ll make breakfast in the morning.”

”You still haven’t done anything, Crowley,” Aziraphale points out, wrapping his arms around him tightly. He pulls him in for a kiss that Crowley gladly accepts. 

They lay in silence for a moment.

”What were you wearing?” Aziraphale asks suddenly.

”Hm?” Crowley answers.

”In the dream,” Aziraphale clarifies. “What were you wearing in the dream?”

”Oh,” Crowley says. “A suit. Why?”

”Hm,” Aziraphale says. “Nothing. I just— wondered what your sense of style would be like. If you were... straight.”

Crowley cringes against his side. “If you ever see me wearing a polo shirt, I want you to put me down like an old race horse.”


End file.
